when you fall for the first time, they say it’s like a thousand roses blooming in your chest at once, but really it’s just the unsteady patter of your heart as he taps out a short response through messenger after over three hours of you sitting on your ass and waiting.
that day i tried to talk to you,
one more time,
one last time,
i didn’t want anything from you,
now that you’ve changed.
you were the first person i kissed in a church –
first in the pews, as we sat looking at the stained window, the cross,
me pulling you close, so that you might stop shaking,
the anxiety ripping through you, bursting through your skin.
then second, finally, behind the piano,
backs pressed against the brick of a wall, quiet, restless,
arms around each other, hands on each other,
doing unholy things in a holy place –
i remember one of the times you walked me home
and i said to you,
“i’ve always wanted flowers”.
they say beware the ides of march
but for me, it’s mid-july;
the coldest month of the year
in which you first held my hand.